Breaking The Silence
by IAmTheBoyd
Summary: He has been wandering the wasteland for longer than he can remember. What is he searching for? This is my first story set in the wasteland. Forgive the slow character development I'm just scratching the surface. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Intro

It was hot. Then again, what was new? When was there not a day when even the weather could dictate your death out here? Out in these merciless wastes if the sun wasn't slowly killing you it was the poison precipitating from a putrescent sky where it seemed that even the clouds themselves suffered from sickness. However this heat was uncanny today. A little comfort could often be found in at least a small breeze. A little respite from the ruthless onslaught of the relentless sun especially in such an open area, but not today.

Despite this, it was times like these when it was safest to move. If you think you are the dumbest person in the world for using now to travel then it is likely, for the optimist, that you are alone. Or such is the theory.

All was still. Nothing was moving between the rocks dotted around or through the scattered debris of antiquated machinery and pulverised concrete from buildings long passed. Not the sniffing of foraging animals could be heard nor the cry of hunting birds. Yet suddenly the peace was interrupted. The silence was punctuated with brutish voices. Voices of two hulking monstrosities that filled the lazy desert air.

"It belongs to Barl!" yelled one of the mutants, arm held outstretched above its head to hold away from its companion what appeared to be a broken propeller blade of an aircraft.

"We both found it!" bellowed the other, "I just want to see!"

Each one seemed a twin to the other. Massive brutes with skin stained green and huge oversized shoulders that, due to their bulk, forced the head and neck down to look almost as if it grew out in front of the collar rather than above it. Despite this, they stood half again as tall as a man. Their faces showed vicious signs of abuse, sporting horrendous scars and healed broken bones.

They were sick exaggerated parodies of humankind whose strength was only matched by their madness, but although their eyes revealed lethal insanity and a ravenous hunger, they also showed a beastlike cunning and the aged stare of their long years.

"No! It's mine! You see it from there. Your eyes don't touch."

Gruk seemed to falter upon hearing this, but only for a brief moment. After all he wasn't under Barl's orders. Who was he to deny Gruk anything? Had Gruk not pointed the plane out in the first place? Were it not for him, there would be no trinket to take home at all.

He waited for Barl to relax his arm and move on. At which point he lunged at the tantalising new treasure. Barl knew Gruk all too well, however, and was ready for this inevitable action. He spun round to face his foe and dodged out of the way at just the right moment to make Gruk sprawl to the floor. He rose back to his feet, meeting Barl's repulsive grin with a hate filled glare.

"Damn you!" he cried. "You keep all spoils for yourself! I see you. You hide man meat even, I see it! You slurp and swallow when people don't see and offer none to no one, even Gruk!" His face cracked into a mirthless laugh, "But I see you."

Barl pushed Gruk away and raised his fists, still holding the propeller in a gesture of challenge. "I keep mine! That man meat was mine because I kill more humans! If you were strong like Barl you could....." he was cut short when he realised Gruk had stopped listening.

Gruk was staring to the left, behind his cohort at a pile of rubble a mere twenty feet from where they stood. A small, near unnoticeable cloud of dust had arisen from the base of the mound and caught the sunlight to catch his attention. Had something just moved? Barl turned to see what had caught Gruk's eye.

"What?" he jeered.

"There's something down there." Gruk murmured, pointing with his chin.

Barl did not know what he was supposed to be looking at, but Gruk did have an eye for these sorts of things. Many a raider ambush had been thwarted by Gruk's uncanny senses to danger, but Barl could see nothing. All that filled his senses was the calmness of the desert yet constant threat of danger the wastes always posed, but Barl was used to this. You would not last long out here if you jumped at every shadow. There was nothing out of the ordinary that he could sense.

It was probably another of Gruk's distractions. "You trick me to make me lose my guard?" he spat.

"I saw movement!" snapped Gruk, but Barl was having none of it.

"I am not fooled easily!" he declared. "Get moving! I am hungry! Maybe we find more humans." With that Barl started walking again, all the while patting his stomach. Gruk loped along after, trying to catch up.

"Well I get a share this time if we do. Or I tell about your horde."

With that, the wastes were silent again, the two mutants' voices floating further into the distance.

At the base of the rubble mound, tucked within the shadows of the wreckage of an ancient car, lay what at first glance would be a pile of tattered fabrics. Closer inspection would reveal that out of a small gap in these rags poked the muzzle of a rifle. The man the rifle belonged to still lay, unmoving in hiding for a while. Not daring to move and endanger his position again. It was not until even the smell of the creatures had left his ken that the rags were flung from his person.

This revealed the unkempt face of a man with the look of those in their late forties, but this was not his age. Years of strife in the wastes could age a man quickly, and he had started travelling east from his home long ago.

He wore a long, brown leather coat covering a mass of tatters that were once a shirt and pants before long years of damage and improvised repair. His dark, matted hair was cut just above the shoulders to keep the sunlight off his neck.

He stood up with a grimace, shaking the blood back into his limbs and picked up his rifle to sling over his shoulder. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small sawn-off shotgun, opened and shut the barrels with a snap to check that all was well before putting it back, and fondled under the car again for his wide brimmed, brown leather hat.

What recklessness, he thought. He had moved only slightly to combat the onslaught of cramp he was receiving on his leg and they had noticed. Sure, it would have been easy enough to plug them there and then but would their friends have heard? Even if not, would these two have been missed after a while?

Maybe the group are nearby, he thought. Hopefully he could catch them in time to save the poor bastards who would be their next victim. That surely would deserve a good meal or even a mattress for the night. With that, Roland started in the direction the mutants had gone. After all it shouldn't be too hard to catch their scent again.


	2. The Quiet Journey

The sun had reached its zenith a few hours ago and was well on its way toward the horizon. There was good cause to smile at this. There was the welcome cool of the evening to look forward to and the even more welcoming prospect of a lie down. Any wastelander would count the steps or seconds until they could rest their head, but there was even more reason to feel content at this point. You had have survived yet another day. It was sureness in the fact that the wastes hadn't beaten you. It was reason to flip a finger to the world.

A modest yet determined caravan of Brahmin was plodding along through the small, shallow valley snaking its way through the landscape. It was carrying everything and anything its owner could manage. From freeze dried meats, canned food and cooking oils to batteries and cleaning fluids.

At the front, pulling on a rope to lead the Brahmin on was a squat, yet sturdy man wearing a small, hooded jacket and goggles hanging around his neck to protect against dust storms. Still in his twenties, the naive enthusiasm, tarnished somewhat from the odd rough experience, still showed on his face.

Morris Holst looked back to his wife, Helena. She was walking alongside one of the Brahmin, fussing over their baby child. His improvised cot was stitched together using older Brahmin skins and hooked onto the flank of one of the beasts to keep out of the sun. She, like her husband had similar goggles held up above the eyes and the remnants of an old sheet wrapped around her head and neck.

"Leave the poor child alone, for God's sake," he called, "isn't he supposed to be sleeping?"

Helena removed her hand from the boy's forehead, wiped some drool from his face and hastily rubbed it away on her jeans. "Morris, he's warm!" she called back, "I think it's fever."

"Of course he's warm. It's a hundred degrees out here!" said Holst, guffawing at the panicked paranoia of his co-parent.

"At least let me give him some of that lotion," pleaded Helena, pointing her thumb towards the Brahmin at the back of the caravan.

"Hell no!" shouted Holst with a splutter, "That shit's worth a tonne! Besides I doubt it'll do any good, it says ages three and up on the bottle."

"Watch the language in front of the boy!" said Helena, causing Holst to shake his head in distain. Oh sure, he thought. Of course the kid gives a shit about whatever the hell I say.

Helena looked back at the last member of the family, guiding the Brahmin from the rear. Holst's twin brother, Nick had been enjoying the show from the back. Up until now, at least. The smile melted from his face as he saw Helena's gaze burn into him. He turned his baseball cap to face forward and cleared his throat.

"Nick, tell him," she said, "One bottle won't matter."

"Hey, don't bring me into this," said Nick, putting his hands up, "I'm not going to be the schmuck getting a roasting because of missing supplies again."

"Look, if there are any left after our time in Richmond, I'll gladly give it up for the boy," called Morris from the front, "hell why don't you take the kid to the doctor when we get there. I'll gladly give up the caps. Although if there's anything wrong with him I'll eat me foot!"

Nick laughed and shook his head. "He's such a miser."

Helena let it drop and trudged along with a face of thunder. Clearly she wasn't getting any help in this from the so called schmuck at the back.

Holst liked to think he knew the market around here and where it differed between the places he visited. After all it was his life's work. He always tried to make sure he was the first to know if, say, molerat meat could be bought in one settlement for half the price compared to just twenty miles away. Contacts in most local settlements would leave messages of sorts in exchange for odd favors and it had served him well over the passed few years.

He paused for a bit and looked back at the caravan. Just four Brahmin, he thought. That was all he could afford. In fact they were the most expensive commodity in this whole train. Although it was hardly surprising considering the hard times the area was going through. Since the fort at Fromberg had suffered such devastating attacks over the recent weeks people would not risk taking life stock anyway near the place, deciding to drive them straight to the settlement over at Greybull instead.

Holst shook such thoughts away after a few moments. At least he had gear to profit from and they were good qualty fo these parts. Besides, these nay-sayer thoughts were not his concern right now. What was his concern was where the caravan guard had got to. They had run ahead to make sure all was safe but they had been a while. Helena and Nick looked at him when they caught up.

"I just want to wait for Eddie and Cole to get back before we move on." Holst said, and turned to look for any sillhouettes on the nearby ridges. The two mercs had come at a high price and so far they had proved their worth. The cool of the evening may be welcoming, but night with protection was expensive, and night without protection was not a thought to settle the mind.


	3. The Chase

There were boot prints everywhere. They were all overlapping and scuffed in places and some signs of sitting were made clear from the disturbances dotted around in the sand. This indicated a multitude of people had been here for a while before moving on. The prints were too big to be human, however, and there were specks of dried blood on the walls and floor from the typical in fighting that mutants were prone to. This gave away the possibility that only their kind had been here recently. The theory was proven after uncovering a broken, rotten tooth in the dust near the middle of the floor. Years of crunching on bone had worn it almost to a nub but he had seen teeth like this far too often not to be sure. Its size meant it could come from naught but a mutant.

Roland stood in what he had first thought was a cave. He had soon discovered, however, that it was actually a gap between the shear faces of two massive rocks that almost leaned against one another, offering light through the foot wide gap at the top, thirty or forty feet up.

He needed a rest, that was for sure, but there was no time. He had been following this group of mutants for days, picking his routes behind them carefully and keeping watchful eye from a good distance whenever they made camp. One momentary lapse of resolve, however, had caused him to dose off while watching them the night before and he had lost them. A brief plinth of stupidity that cost most men their lives out here. He needed eyes on his quarry again before the sun went down. Another night of blind chasing and they could be out of Roland's reach for good. This find was a blessing.

Roland walked over to the remains of a small fire pit near where the gap in the rocks shrunk to a mere foot wide line and, kneeling down, he put his hand into the cinders.

"Still warm," he muttered to himself, "they've been gone a few hours, if that."

Roland had been able to see the entrance to this small canyon for a good few miles before reaching it. If the mutants had only left recently, then he would have seen them leave.

This must be a through route, he thought, looking up to where the gap in the rocks had gotten thin. He smirked as he jumped up and raced through the gap to where the other entrance must surely be. He knew they were close and they'd now given him a direction. They were making this too easy.

Outside, the sky had started it's crimson colour as the sun raced towards the horizon. Roland emerged from the darkness to a startling sudden change in the landscape. The ground on which he stood dropped away, revealing the land in front of him for miles ahead. All around him sat old, decrepit picnic tables and bins surrounding the hollowed out remains of an old cafe. It stood as a statue to civilisation, its facade stripped away leaving its name lost in memory.

Again, he was given a gift. Sight of the brutes must surely be in grasp from up here. He strolled up to were the ground sloped down and started its way to the plains below. Standing at the edge, he unshouldered his rifle and, descending into a prone, he unclipped the scope and scanned the land below for any signs of movement.

What a breath taking view this must have been before the bombs had fallen, Roland thought with a sneer, damning all the monsters of the past for robbing him of such easily reached comforts. He imagined crystal blue lakes and rivers, reflecting the sunlight with their crystaline light shows. The snaking lines of traffic on the distant highway, mere dots from up here and from these eyes. Young couples and parents staring out from their benches while children laughed and played amongst themselve, oblivious to the staggering beauty around them. A calm, cool breeze with the scent of pine in the summer and blossom in the spring invaded the senses. Laughter, excited chatter, the smiles and sighs savouring all the joys of this very moment. All was gone now. All the comforts that humanity had taken for granted was stolen in one spiteful swipe. All was gone, forgotten, dead.

Roland shook his head while he snapped back to reality. Such thoughts were nothing if not detrimental to the here and now. He was tracking his prey. Dreams of the lives of ancestors would have to wait. All that that lay in front of him now was the constant, unchanging infinity of the wastes. The smashed debris, scattered rocks and churned metal. This was what the pinnacle of human technology had done to the world. This was the world's revenge on the human mind.

Hello, what is this? he thought with a start. A line of four mutants were running through the scattered mess of rocks in the valley below. The one in front, bigger than the rest looked as though he was bellowing orders at his boys as they ran on behind him. He had pieces of metal plate literally stapled to his arms and torso. An evil, scratch built helmet surrounded his head with a face guard welded together using plates of steel. A single ivory horn was grafted onto the front, above the eye slits, resembling a horror from the very depths of hell. The face plate bore the painted skeletal stare of death himself with his humorless, lifeless smile, but under all that chilling metal and threatening display was the same crazed laviathen. The same monstrous green horror. The inadvertant genius of mankind. Man's first inadvertant evolution. Behind him his 'men' were hurrying. All the while, they carried crude assault rifles and had odd melee implements strapped to their backs. On one back was lashed the broken propeller blade of an aircraft.

"Hello, Barl." Roland muttered with an evil grin.

He pulled his eye away from the scope, staring into the middle distance with thought. What had got them running so fiercely? Were they running away from something? Towards? A flash of reflected sunlight caught his eye further to the right and he quickly pulled the scope towards the direction of the source. Men. Two of them. They were looking in the direction of the mutants but it was obvious that these two had no idea of the danger they were in. They wore simple protection, probably ancient police gear. They had an assorted array of small fire arms; a shotgun, a submachine gun, pistols in holsters at their thighs. They were just standing there, talking! They had no idea of the game they were in!

Roland quickly put his attention back on the mutants. One was being told to stay, guarding the road they had been using while the others left it to get a better position. It was a good idea. It was obvious that it was the only place one could safely get to them, especially from up here, and a rear guard could be afforded if the rest were only after two mere humans.

No more watching. No more stalking. Roland jumped up, reclipped the scope and reshouldered his rifle. Staying low, he started at a swift pace, down towards the hunters. Were they indeed the hunters? They certainly thought so. But there was always a bigger, more lethal predator, and Roland was now in play.


	4. Race Against Time

A small stone rolled and bounced its way down the hill, dislodging other stones and causing a small rockslide as it neared the bottom. Eddie looked at the small pile of debris that had now gathered below and smiled in satisfaction. Maybe kicking another pebble would deliver the same result he thought, and looked around for a suitable candidate with a sigh. He'd never been so bored. Why did holst want to go this way? The normal route was mapped and patrolled and all the traders back in town had vouched for it. No raiders had been spotted in months and all mutant activity was centred on Fromberg. Taking this ridiculous route was totally unnecessary.

Eddie scanned the landscape around him. It was a multitude of very small hills and valleys with dotted ponds accumulating whatever water the sun hadn't taken for itself. Petrified trees clung on to the sides of these small hills in enclosed groups, standing like centurions, their jagged branches stabbing at the air like thrusted spears. Over to the west the land rose up to a great heightened plateau, sitting like a great wall stretching to the north and to the south west, hiding whatever lands lay beyond.

"Not a breath, huh?" came a voice from the slope heading down from Eddie's back. Not turning round, he hocked a phlegm ball and sent it cometting down to his newly built pebble sculpture below. The man came to stand at Eddie's side and surveyed the land in front with him. After a short time he sent a similar spit ball in the direction of the first, attempting to reach a greater distance."Did I beat you?" asked Cole, straining to see where his had landed.

"Oh I don't care," came the reply, "it's like you said. There's not a breath of life around here."

"We'll need to get back to Holst and his family soon," said Cole, openin his pocket to reach one of his cigars and taking a bite. "He'll think we've abandoned him."

"Yeah, ok." Eddie said with another sigh. He snatched the cigar from Cole's hand and took a bite out of the other end before moving down in the direction his friend had come. Turning round, he put his arm out, offering the cigar back to Cole. "Well? Come on." he said.

This could only afford one attempt, thought Roland, leaning against the corner of a rocky wall. A quick glance had shown him that the mutant was there, kicking rocks around in between checks of his weapons. Up close like this, the thing smelled of death. The smell of a thousand corpses. A smell this thing must be well acquainted with. Convenient that this smell would have more personal relevance soon enough. Reaching into his pocket, Roland pulled out a small, crescent shaped dagger and sucked in a lungfull of of air to hold. With that, he leapt round the corners, and sprinted at his opponent with a wolf's fervor.

A commotion from behind the mutant caused him to turn round, but all he saw was the flapping shape of a coated figure flying through the air towards his face and delivering a lightening fast arcing strike. Then he saw nothing.

Roland jumped into the air as the mutant turned round, flying towards the beasts head. He delivered a wide, viscious trike at the throat with his dagger, creating a visceral canyon in the mutant's neck, almost severing the head from the body. Both Roland and the mutant hit the ground at the same time, the mutant falling into a crumpled heap, and Roland with pain in his anckle and a curse, trying not to roll with the rifle on his back. No time to check to see if beast was dead. No time for loot. The others were nearby, and he had to reach them in time.


End file.
